Madge

Magdalena Sapphire Victoria Josephina.

She had the personality to carry such a huge name, but was down to earth enough to be simply Madge. Like Ruth, this friendship was suppose to fizzle out, but the Lord had other plans. Madge had a Type A personality that made most Type A’s take a step back. I am meek and mild when standing next to Madge. She would mistake my quiet demeanor for weakness. I’d spend the next 20 years proving her wrong.

We were partners at a summer job. It went great, as long as Madge called the shots. The moment I stepped up to the plate, she’d have to one-up me or add to it somehow. Despite this, I let her run the show. I knew she had my back when Madge helped me get an infestation of ants out of my bunkhouse bed in the middle of the night. And then, I was transferred to another position because she complained about my personality to management.

It turned out we attended the same university. We only hung out once, as she shunned college life outside of class.

After college, she lived near-by and we’d bond over our young professional lives. Madge moved to Europe; myself and another friend met up with her for a European adventure. This was one of the worst trips I’d ever taken: Madge’s domineering ways made me feel like an insolent child and I eventually gave up trying; things went much smoother when I kept my mouth shut. I’ve never done another trip with her and I probably will not ever again.

Simonne, you’re probably thinking, Madge sounds like a real drag, why did you stay friends with her? The Lord kept us together for a reason.

Madge moved back to the USA and landed near DC. A familiar face on the east coast, she was beginning to mellow out and as our adult life took off, we began to lean on each other for support. Those personality defects that were opposite of our own? They were what was needed in our own lives.

The phone rang once and when I answered, the voice on the other end said, “You will not believe how much sex I have had in the past 24 hours.” This could only be Madge. While I wasn’t a shining example of sexual purity, Madge slept around. A lot. We had a long conversation when she got a STD from a married man. While we both had common sense, Madge tended to fall down rabbit holes I wouldn’t touch with a 10 foot pole.

I do have a lot of Type B personality traits, sometimes I don’t speak up when I should and my fear of rocking the boat has put me at a disadvantage at times. No worries, I have Madge, who is more than willing to call me out on my avoidance.

We fill the voids the other one has.

Madge called me once when her husband was admitted to a psychiatric ward, completely in tears and not coping well. I drove up that weekend to comfort her and be there. She had a conflict with a friend at work, who suddenly stopped speaking to her, and we talked it through: chances are, Madge’s aggressive behavior pushed her away. I called her when things got rocky in my marriage: and when she stayed with us for a weekend, Madge confirmed it wasn’t in my imagination and I needed to say/do something about it right this very minute. She takes the time to ask me the hard questions and doesn’t let me get away with, “Oh, it’s fine.” She loves hard and her brutal honesty is needed in my life.

Madge’s house was my hurricane evacuation plan, and she was very upset we chose to stay. The constant text and phone calls of “Your life is in danger, get your butts and your cats’ butts up here” were a par for the course. Even though she comes across tough as nails, Madge cares a lot and will do anything to help someone else.

She had a rough year of changes and I made her a quilt for her birthday. She loved it.

I got a card from her not long ago, thanking me for our friendship over the years. Despite our stark differences, when we get together, we have great conversations and it’s always a good time. I know our friendship has limitations, and that’s okay. We help each other be the best person we can possibly be.

I’ll keep her calm and she can kick my butt out of complacency.

December: Be Tuned to the Holy Spirit

I’m ending 2017 on a note to tap into my intuition – which sometimes gets caught up in the web of anxiety in my brain and I don’t always know which is what.

We so often pray for the voice of the Lord to guide us in our lives. But how often do we listen? I will admit I sometimes feel an inkling, a gentle push from the Holy Spirit and I ignore it because I’m too busy doing other things. Or it’s horribly inconvenient. Or I decide in the moment that it wouldn’t work, wouldn’t be wanted, wouldn’t be appreciated. With the Christmas season in full swing, I thought this was the best way to focus my energy.

What will this look like? I hope to obey the small, sometimes inconsequential voice in my head, urging me to go in a certain direction. I pray my eyes will be open to someone needing help, that I will offer what I can, regardless of the outcome.

I want to leave room to let the Lord lead this month.

September in Review

As hypothesized at the beginning of the month, I didn’t plant my grape vines. I did, however, grow in other areas.

My husband and I had a couple over from church for dinner. Despite the main course not turning out 100%, dessert was perfect and they didn’t leave until after 10pm because we were having such great conversation. It was really good for us. Seeds of friendship were sown.

While we downsized our stuff before we moved, there were a few items that we couldn’t place in our new house. They were sent to a resale shop that benefits women of domestic violence, in hopes they could help grow someone else’s new beginning.

I began my second assignment working as a ghostwriter, and it has stretched me as a writer and challenged my abilities. We’re still working on setting the right voice with the literature, but I love helping others reach their goals from behind the scenes. My ghosting benefits many by tilling the soil for others to grow – it’s a good feeling – and I am happy to be a part of it, even though my name is not on it.

In the vein of gardening, I paid entirely too much money for a full landscape of my house, but now it looks amazing. The final frontier, also know as the backyard, is a work in progress. The many years of debris are cleared and I hope to rescue the remnants of grass and coax it into a lawn in the spring. The amount of weeds is simply astounding. But pulling each weed by hand has been a salve for my panic attacks. It’s quickly becoming a sanctuary for me. Between work and marriage, I need a place of solace, and right now it is among the weeds.

Next year, there will be grapes.